


Almost Nothing Beats A Segway

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-19
Updated: 2006-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for KC</p>
    </blockquote>





	Almost Nothing Beats A Segway

**Author's Note:**

> Written for KC

 

 

 **Thursday, December 21, 11:30pm  
**  
Genovian Royal Bedchamber

Christmas in a palace isn't all it's cracked up to be.

And really, what does that saying even mean? Cracked up? Does that mean that, if something is good, then it's "cracked" like, _on_ crack? Or, cracked up as in laughing? Hmm.

Anyways, Christmas in a palace isn't as fun as it sounds. First of all, I don't think I have had more than an hour's sleep since I got here. Our private jet landed at about 5pm New York time, which is 11pm in Genovia. But do I get to go to sleep? Of course not. Grandmère has arranged for me to attend a midnight mass with the British royals, who have stopped by on their way to Paris, where they will stay until Christmas Day before jetting back to London.

Which, okay, a midnight mass doesn't sound too taxing. But here I am, in my royal bedchamber, staring at the big fluffy bed I'm not allowed to lie in. Mostly because on said fluffy bed is my new dress, complete with a set of _very_ uncomfortable looking gloves. Grandmère says I have to wear them until she can arrange for my manicure in the morning. It's not my fault I had to fly out here right after final exams. Geometry is _stressful_!!!

Also, who goes to midnight mass on December 21st? Isn't that, like, a Christmas-Eve-Only thing? Apparently not.

Uh oh. I can hear footsteps approaching and I haven't even washed my face yet. I have about ten minutes to get ready. If she seats me next to Prince William again in hopes that sitting in a church together will spark ideas of a wedding, I swear I will cry. Right there in the middle of service.

I can't believe that only 28 hours ago (or 34, if I am going on Genovian hours. That makes no sense!), I was taking my Geometry exam and now I am on the other side of the world, getting ready to greet royalty. Or, I will be once I am dressed.

Notes: T-minus 38 hours until Michael arrives!!!!  
Look up "it's not all it's cracked up to be" on Wikipedia  
Look up "T-minus" on Wikipedia, while I'm at it

\- - -

 **Friday, December 22, 10am  
**  
Genovian Royal Bedchamber

Breakfast in the Genovian palace is always interesting.

And by interesting, I mean aggravating. Honestly, I understand that we are not a normal family by any means - I mean, it's not exactly normal to be eating toast and jam under a chandelier, at a table the length of a football field. If I were home right now, I'd be eating blueberry Eggos with my hands in front of the TV, watching Jerry Springer with my mom and Fat Louie. Rocky would probably be in the other room with Mr. G because the chair throwing always makes him cry. He will be a wonderful pacifist one day.

Dad says I need to start thinking of the palace as home, too. He's right, since one day this _will_ be my home, but until I take over the throne and have complete control over the decorating, this place isn't going to feel anything but weird. For instance, I don't understand why everything has to be white, gold and powder blue. What's wrong with a little pink, or even purple? These interior decorators are totally uncreative. Also, I see no reason why I have to walk from one end of the palace to another, especially when Michael, the one true love of my life, made me my very own Segway Human Transporter this past year for my birthday. But Dad wouldn't let me bring it on the plane. Something about an unnecessary safety hazard. Doesn't he understand that Michael made it for me _with his hands_!?!

Whatever.

Anyway, breakfast this morning was bizarre. I was there, minding my own business. Dad has his face in a copy of the _Wall Street Journal_ the entire time, while his new girlfriend Colette made gross lovey-dovey-eyes at him and completely ignored her food. Her hand was wrapped around his wrist so tightly, I'm surprised his circulation wasn't cut off by her acrylic nails. I should really talk to him about that, because I read that good circulation is one of the first things to go with age and, let's face it, Dad is getting up there in years and can afford as many good blood-flowing years as he can get in the meantime.

Prince René was sitting next to me, making obscene shapes with orange slices on his plate (who knew you could make oranges dirty?) when he leaned over to me and asked, "Your boyfriend is coming tomorrow, no?"

I said, yes, he was, and if my face lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, I couldn't help it. True love makes you glow, you know. So he said to me, "Is he sleeping in the Prince Guillaume Memorial Bedchamber again?" I said yes, he was. This is the same place he slept last Christmas, because the balcony is right next to mine, making it a prime location for late-night making out. Hopefully, this year we won't get interrupted by hundreds of stray cats, but that's a different story.

Where was I? Oh, right. And I said yes, he was sleeping in the same suite as last year. And Prince René didn't say a word, only raised one eyebrow at me. (Note to self: keep practicing that in the mirror. I hate to admit it, but it looks so REGAL when René raises only one eyebrow and I feel that I should try and perfect every regal technique I can)

"What?" I finally said.

"Nothing," Prince René said, going back to his oranges. "Only, I am sure he won't actually be sleeping in there."

I was so speechless. I mean, how _dare_ he assume that Michael and I are...you know. It just so happens that Michael and I have agreed to wait to consummate our love until my prom night. Okay, so I told Michael that and he grudgingly agreed, but still!!!! _It's none of his business!!!!!_

I have to go now. I am supposed to go to a ribbon-cutting ceremony. How am I supposed to concentrate on cutting ribbons when there are _two_ men expecting me to have sex with Michael? At least Lilly won't be here this year. I don't want to sound mean, but I was so relieved when she got that internship at NBC. Even though she says she will be a "glorified Starbucks runner," I think it will be good for her to make the proper connections. Her talk show should totally be on network television. She's the next Katie Couric, like, before Katie Couric switched onto that boring show and everyone stopped caring about her. Plus, after last year's fiasco, I don't think Grandmère would have let her step foot back into the palace.

Note: T-minus 27 hours until Michael arrives!! (And, according to Wikipedia, the term "t-minus" is a method of backward counting to indicate the seconds, days, etc. remaining before an event occurs or a deadline expires. Typical events for which a countdown is used include the launch of a rocket or spacecraft, the explosion of a bomb, the start of a race, or the New Year. Or, in my case, until I am in the arms of my one true love again.)

\- - -

 **Friday, December 22, 10pm  
**  
Genovian Royal Bedchamber balcony

Okay, that was weird.

I just got off the phone with Michael, finalizing our plans for his arrival tomorrow ( _15 hours omg!!!!_ ) and he said the strangest thing to me.

"Mia," he asked, and even though the connection wasn't the greatest, his voice still sounds totally sexy when he says my name.

"Yes?" I responded.

"I was wondering if you would do me a favor, as part of my Christmas present for you."

"Of course," I said. We had already agreed that we were going to keep our pact from my birthday this past year, which was that from now on we would only make each other our gifts.

"Stop writing in your diary. At least until after we exchange gifts."

I didn't think I had heard him correctly, so I asked him to repeat it. But, no, sure enough. He doesn't want me to write in here anymore, until after we exchange our presents Christmas Day.

 _I don't understand_. What could he possibly be making me that requires me to stop writing in my diary? At first, I was totally nervous that he was getting annoyed that I write everything down in here, like Lilly was when I first started keeping a diary, but he assured me that wasn't it.

"You'll see after Christmas, I promise," he said. He wouldn't tell me any more than that.

 _What does it mean?!?!?!?_ Of course, I promised him that I wouldn't, because I trust Michael fully and completely, but still. I am kind of freaking out here.

Oh, and if you're wondering why I am still writing this down, I am not technically breaking my promise. I asked him if I could still make one last entry, as explanation for why I will stop writing, and he said that was fine.

So, I guess this is goodbye until after December 25th. I can make it four days, right?

\- - -

 **Friday, December 22, 10:30pm (Saturday, December 23, 4am Genovian time)  
**  
JFK Airport

Dear Diary,

Is that how I am supposed to write this? I'm not sure that you write in your diary that way, Mia, since you never let me read it ( _hint!_ ) but I suppose it seems appropriate. Here I am in the terminal at JFK, waiting for my flight to start boarding - which should be pretty soon for me, considering I am flying first class and first class always boards, well, first. I have to say, it's not as cool as last year's flight on the private jet, but I understand that your Dad couldn't do it twice in a row.

By now you have probably figured out that this is your Christmas present from me: a diary. I hope that you like it. I have to admit, I'm not very adept in keeping a journal or a diary, unless you count the blog I used to update for the Computer Club every once in a while, but I will do my very best. I wanted you to be able to live our second holiday together in Genovia from my point of view.

I can't wait to see you again. My dorm was really, really boring. Everyone went home about three days ago for Winter Break and not having you to talk to, or even IM with, was pretty lonely. And I didn't want to go home, because dealing with Lilly pre-internship seemed a little too masochistic for my taste.

Right now I imagine you are in bed, sleeping. What do you sleep in, anyway? I always thought those pajamas with the little apples all over them that you'd wear during sleepovers with Lilly were pretty cute (we will pretend I never said that, okay?) but I would like to think you sleep in a little less now that you are older. I imagine the Genovian palace has a solid enough heating system for something tinier.

You're probably blushing now, so I will stop. Less than eight hours until I see you.

Love,   
Michael

\- - -

 **Saturday, December 23, 1am (7am Genovian time)  
**  
Seat 3B, Continental Airways Flight 4720 Nonstop to Genovia

I decided against the whole "Dear Diary" thing, after all. It seems redundant.

I am currently seated next to a rather large, unhappy businessman. I don't know for a fact that he's a businessmen, but think his consumption of three vodka tonics in less than three hours is a bit of a clue.

Did you know that Continental Airways has video games in first class? The selection isn't exactly stellar, but they have Invasion! I'm sure you understand how exciting this is, Mia. I can't sleep. I know that I should, considering how jet-lagged I am going to be once I arrive in Genovia, but I am jittery. Dad gave me some Ambient before I left, which he prescribes to his patients who have anxiety about flying, but I don't want to take them.

Apparently all those assemblies at Albert Einstein about gateway drugs sunk in. Besides, did you know that, even at a therapeutic dosage, prescription sleep aids can lead to a psychological dependency? Even in the absence of a biological dependency, you can become addicted, which could eventually lead to further anxiety, depression, convulsions, insomnia and even death? I tried to tell this to my father, but he assured me that he closely monitors all of his patients.

Maybe I will try to sleep again, though. After another round of Invasion.

\- - -

 **Saturday, December 23, 3am (9am Genovian time)  
**  
Same place as before

Okay, you were right. _The Devil Wears Prada_ was a completely enjoyable film.

There, I said it.

You can never show this to Lilly. _Ever!_

\- - -

 **Saturday, December 23, 3pm (9am New York time)  
**  
Prince Guillaume Memorial Bedchamber

Have I ever mentioned to you that being in a Memorial Bedchamber kind of freaks me out? It does. It wouldn't be so bad if Prince Guillaume's portrait wasn't hanging right above the fireplace, staring at me disapprovingly the entire time, as though he knows I am thinking inappropriate thoughts about his young, distant relative.

Not that I am thinking inappropriate thoughts about you.

Technically, though, it is time for my nap, as ordered by your Grandmother. I know I don't speak French, but on the way to my room, I asked Jean-Paul what she had told him, and he told me she'd said, "there is no way he is coming to dinner with another two bags of extra luggage under his eyes," so I guess that means I look tired. Which I am.

\- - -

 **Sunday, December 24, 1:45am  
**  
Prince Guillaume is looking at me again

This time I totally _am_ thinking inappropriate thoughts about you, but how can I help it? It's not my fault my girlfriend is a great kisser. That thing you do, Mia, with...well, you know.

Anyway.

I've just come in from your balcony, which you've probably figured out. It's officially Christmas Eve and even though it isn't snowing outside, it's definitely cold enough to necessitate lots and lots of cuddling. Not that I cuddle.

(Okay, we were cuddling. You seriously can never show this to Lilly)

I'm completely exhausted now and am _really_ looking forward to a real night's sleep. But mostly I am looking forward to tomorrow and your Grandmother's Royal Christmas Eve Ball. Because, even though I have to wear a penguin suit, I have no doubt that you will look beautiful. And now I am going to put this thing away before I embarrass myself further. Good night.

\- - -

 **Sunday, December 24, 7pm  
**  
Prince Guillaume Memorial Bedchamber

I am supposed to be getting ready for the ball now, but I wanted to make one more real entry before I do. I am guessing this is the last time I will have to sit down with this diary and write a substantial entry, so here it goes.

Genovia is a beautiful country. I know that if we are going to stay together (which I hope that we do) that I will have to live here one day. I suppose that, even though I love New York, if I have to live somewhere else, this isn't a bad place to be.

I'd be very proud of myself if I were you. Seeing you in action, as a princess, is weird sometimes. I'm not used to watching you command a room, and I know that it still makes you nervous, but you've come a long way. You're going to be great. You already are.

Plus, seeing you act all authoritative is sexy as hell.

What do you think the chances are, were I to become Prince Michael Moscovitz Renaldo, of me getting a yacht?

Okay, time for the penguin suit.

\- - -

 **Sunday, December 24, 8:15pm  
**  
Royal Genovian Toilette

Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, Her Royal Highness, is the hottest girl in the universe.

\- - -

 **Monday, December 25, 2am  
**  
Prince Guillaume Memorial Bedchamber

Seriously, woman, that thing you do with your tongue.

You're sure we have to wait until prom?

(Go away Prince Guillaume!! You would feel the same way.)

\- - -

 **Monday, December 25, 7:30am  
**  
Prince Guillaume Memorial Bedchamber

I'm about to walk over to your room and wake you up, but first I have to wrap this. So, I will just say, Merry Christmas, Mia.

I love you,  
Michael

\- - -

 **Tuesday, December 26, 12:45am  
**  
Royal Genovian Bedchamber Toilette

Okay, I was honestly going to try and refrain from writing in my diary again until Michael went to sleep, but I can't contain myself anymore. It's technically the day after Christmas, right?

Anyways: _He made me a diary!!!!!!!!!_

I have the best boyfriend, like, _ever_. I really do. This is the best Christmas ever. It's like how on The O.C., when Ryan was in a coma and everyone wanted him to wake up for Chrismukkah and then he _does_ and he has closure for Marissa's death and everything. Without the death. Just the Christmas-wish-coming-true part.

I have read his diary about twenty times already and it is the most wonderful thing I have ever received. Okay, maybe it's tied with the Segway Human Transporter. But, really. Almost nothing beats a Segway.

But this diary is amazing and he was _so_ sweet to think of making it for me. I know that he always says I am the writer, but Michael is pretty great, too. Especially when what he writes is that I am beautiful.

I cannot stop grinning.

I have to go back to him now. Yes, he is in my room. No, we are not doing _that_ (I was serious about prom!!) but I might have maybe kind of let him get to second base.

And maybe a little bit of third.

But there will be plenty of time to write about all of that later, now that I can write in here again. For now, Michael is here. And a princess _never_ keeps her prince waiting.

 

 

 


End file.
